


Fearsome

by dawnstonedagger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battle Prowess, Bragging About Your Ex, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Fluff, Gen, POV Original Character, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:16:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6546427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstonedagger/pseuds/dawnstonedagger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas gives his agent an adamant warning: Don't fight the Inquisitor, or you will die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearsome

**Author's Note:**

> DA Kinkmeme Prompt: Having recently downloaded a mod that let's me use any weapon I like and being the Solavellan trash I am I couldn't help but think how would Solas describe my KE/DW to one of his minions?
> 
> I love hearing about other people's pcs so forget class and game mechanic restrictions how does your Inquisitor fight, what's the story there and does Solas's personal feelings for the Inquisitor colour his perceptions?  
> *******

Certain that his meeting with the Dread Wolf had concluded, Isenras tugged his cowl up, and turned to make his way towards dark cold that lay beyond the tent flap.

“One last thing.”

Very well, he was not. Fen’Harel’s usual somber tone had also taken an edge.

“If the Inquisitor discovers you, do not attempt to fight. Flee, or surrender. I promise you you will not survive otherwise. It would be a waste for you to die, and you know little which would be of use to her. Nothing she does not already know.”

His head craned back, Isenras barked a laugh at him. His leader had never expressed such concern for his safety before, and how did he know the sum of his knowledge?

“You have so little faith. I am one of the strongest mages in this entire army, besides you. I’ve taken a dragon down single-handed!” he bragged.

One did not become one of Fen’Harel’s most trusted followers, inasmuch as Fen’Harel trusted anyone, by being a weak or foolish. Isenras did not consider himself either, but he knew he had misspoken when he looked back and could see the knife-white flash of an amused grin. It gave him the chill of the grave from across the tent.

“Did you know that the Inquisitor killed twelve high dragons in the space of one year, with minimal assistance? Twelve of them, among other creatures of horror and legend. I have seldom seen the like. Yet strength is scarcely her greatest asset. Through sheer force of will, she cut through armies of the undead, hordes of demons, conquered half of Ferelden, and brought Orlais to rein. Do not underestimate her. She has defied my every expectation, in every possible aspect.”

Isenras considered what could extract such a passionate warning from someone typically as calm and collected as Fen’Harel. The rumors that the Inquisitor was once his lover might be true, if unlikely. She was mortal and a lowly Dalish besides—the mere shadow of an elf. The spark of admiration in his eye, coupled with what Isenras could only place as a fond smirk, however, gave the distinct impression of a deep and abiding familiarity.

“She also has a fragment of your power, and you assisted her. That is the only way she could have accomplished-” he started to say, but Fen’Harel raised a hand to still his tongue.

“Regardless of what power the mark conferred upon her, she was already formidable. She had the opportunity to acquire training in the arts of the arcane warrior, and excelled at that as well,” he said.

“I also have such training. It is no great secret or challenge for the willing spirit.”

Fen’Harel simply chuckled.

“Isenras, my friend, I have every confidence in your skill. I wish you to succeed, however, so forgive me if I beg of you more caution than usual. Imagine if you will, a whirlwind of blades and fire descending, disappearing and reappearing in front of you, behind you, never standing still long enough to land a blow upon. Moments later, struck by spirit magic, you would then quickly gain the awful realization that your barriers were gone, and your body was frozen and weak with electrical shock.

“Then, when properly softened up, as she likes to say, you would not be able to avoid the blow about to cleave your head from your neck. She likes going for the legs, as well, I’ve noticed. Cutting them out from under her target with a spirit blade, or if the mood strikes her, with the enchanted fade quartz daggers she also often wields. While her tactics vary, these are some of her favorites. The mark only comes into play against demons, or as a last resort. Thus, it is unlikely you will be ripped apart by a rift into the Fade.”

Isenras tried to train his expression away from something that resembled a gasping fish.

“And you expect me to be able to steal that amulet from her personal effects?” 

From the sound of it, the woman fought like a demon and enjoyed the process, while the Dread Wolf had delighted in fighting at her side. He wasn’t certain if he was honored that he thought him talented enough to pull off the theft, or irked that he judged him ultimately disposable.

“Yes. It will be far more useful to us than to her. I assure you that if you fail to heed my warning, your death will be swift and merciful. Lana is not one to permit undue suffering. Do not get caught.” A note of admiration hung in the air, along with a name that he wasn’t sure Fen’Harel had meant to use.

Isenras stood wide-eyed and considerably less sure of himself, but couldn’t afford to look it.

He watched him roll up a magically-enhanced map, which blanketed much of the nearby camp table. Most of their forces would move to another base tonight, though Isenras didn’t know where, as he had to take care of this small matter. Fen’Harel never stayed in one place for long.

“I understand,” he said, trying to avoid sounding flippant, making an attempt at solemn confidence. 

He would succeed, and succeed so well, maybe he'd bring him something unexpected. Perhaps a lock of her hair, or a set of her frilly underclothes. Then again, he didn't want to get killed by the Dread Wolf, either.

Fen’Harel nodded, dismissing him without another word.

The glimpse he caught of his leader’s wry, sad expression, as he turned away, told him there was far more he did not.


End file.
